


Take Me to the River

by vulpixel



Series: CCU (Claymore Cinematic Universe) [1]
Category: Claymore (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Fishing, Tax Fraud
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:48:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29051661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vulpixel/pseuds/vulpixel
Summary: Jean works at Bass Pro Shops. Clare comes in to buy a new fishing pole every single week. It's a match made in heaven. Fishing puns galore. Undine is there for some reason. idk!welcome to clown city babey
Relationships: Clare/Jean (Claymore)
Series: CCU (Claymore Cinematic Universe) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2131401
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

Bass Pro Shops. Aisles upon aisles of charcoal grills, hunting equipment, and fishing poles as far as the eye can see. Kayaks and canoes lie next to elaborate tents. Fake deer stand proud upon shelves keeping a keen eye over their retail domain. A life sized taxidermied bear guards the entrance. Meticulous patterns are carved into the wooden pillars that stretch high to the ceiling. A fish tank marks the center of the store. A sole employee throws in food for the fish inside. To be brief, it’s a wet dream for the avid outdoorsman. For Jean, it’s a paycheck at the end of the week. Blacksmith classes aren’t going to pay for themselves. On the bright side, the store allows dogs, and she gets to pet them all.

She stands in the fishing department leaning against the counter, watching an old man choose between a yellow worm bait and a rattling fish bait. He looks between the two, a perplexed look on his face. His brow furrows with concentration. It’s the most excitement Jean has seen all week besides the racoon she saw while taking out the trash the other day. She still longs for the day she gets to see it once again.

Then, she sees her. A woman walks past with an aura strong enough to knock Jean on her feet. Her hair is short and practical, and her bangs are long enough to almost cover her eyebrows. There is a fire in her step, like it is her destiny to be in this store. At that same time, she seems utterly disinterested in everything going on around her. Immediately, Jean is obsessed. It’s rare she sees women in the store, and even rarer to see a woman who doesn’t immediately strike her as a Republican. Jean opens her mouth to say something, but realizes she has no idea what she would even say. She follows the mysterious woman down the aisle.

“Excuse me,” she says.

The woman looks up, staring at her with a mostly blank but slightly curious gaze. She does not answer.

Jean has not thought this far. She searches her brain for anything to say. Then, it hits her.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” She asks like the retail employee she is.

The woman pauses. Jean cannot tell if she is deep in thought or simply does not want to respond. Then, the woman answers with a slight shake of her head, “No.”

At least she answered. Now, Jean is utterly lost on what to say next. In fact, she forgets how to speak completely. The other woman does not seem to mind. She returns to her shopping without a single word. Jean decides to make her escape while she still can.

So she watches from the reception counter. The other woman either does not notice her staring or does not care. She taps her chin, deep in thought as she ponders over two models of fishing poles. With nothing better to do, Jean watches intently. She finds herself fascinated by the woman's ability to focus on something so trivial for so long. It’s been five entire minutes.

"This one." The woman points to the exact make and model she wants.

"Nice choice. The Shimano's poles are known for their excellent handling and at a decent price," Jean says, trying to make some sort of friendly banter.

"Money means nothing to me." The woman patiently waits for Jean to deliver her fishing pole. As she hands it over, their hands briefly caress. Jean’s heart rate skyrockets. She tries not to think about it too much. Clare promptly leaves afterward. That was the most words the woman has ever said to her. It’s progress. Kind of. This technically counts as a conversation.

The scene is pitifully lacking in anything, yet it is all Jean can think about. She spends the rest of her shift reimagining the scenario in her head. A swarm of possibilities fill her head. Who was that mysterious woman? Jean absolutely has to know.

It turns out her manager does not care if she works in the fishing section or not, so she volunteers herself for the position every chance she gets in hopes of seeing the cryptid again. Unfortunately for her, the strange woman does not return. Monday comes around. Still, there's a sad lack of women in the store. Tuesday is much the same.

\----

A week passes by. Jean paces the floor impatiently, pretending to organize the fish bait for the thirtieth time. First, she goes with alphabetical order. Then, rainbow order. Hours pass by.

Then, to Jean's surprise, the mysterious woman returns. It's unremarkable. She just walks in and stares at the fishing poles wordlessly like she has before, but Jean finds it fascinating. She needs to talk to her.

"Do you need help with anything?" Jean asks again, this time with more confidence, "I know quite a bit about the different poles. What are you looking for in particular?"

"I'm looking for accuracy and durability. My last pole snapped in half. Give me something better," the woman says simply.

What kind of fishing is this woman doing?

"You could try a Sterling Rod. I've heard they're hard to break."

"Okay. I'll take one." She decides.

Jean takes her time checking her out (in a retail way not a sexual way. Do not be confused). Her intentions are to rope the woman into divulging more information on herself. Instead, she pays cash and leaves before Jean can count her change. Jean is left wanting, but she does not know for what.

\----

Like clockwork, the woman shows up a week later. She strides to the counter with purpose. There is a flame of determination in her eyes. Her hand slams onto the counter with enough force to almost make Jean flinch. Almost.

“I need another one,” Clare says.

Jean’s jaw hangs slack. She does not know what to make of everything. “Already? Did you break this one too?”

The woman nods solemnly. “Yes. I need something sturdier.”

She ends up purchasing one of the higher end models.

\----

“Again?” At this point, Jean is considering giving this apparently inhumanly strong woman a children’s rod. The thick plastic can withstand any casting method. However, they are practically useless when it comes to actual fishing.

“I liked the last one. Give me another,” the woman says.

“Excuse me for prying, but how are you breaking them so fast?”

She shrugs. “Excessive use.”

How much time does this woman spend fishing? Jean has too many questions to ask.

“Would you like to buy any bait?” She asks instead.

“No, thank you. I catch my own.”

Those poor worms. Or maybe Jean wants to be one of those worms. She wouldn’t know; she can barely tell right from left at the moment.

“You know, there’s quite a few benefits to using lures. You can cast farther than using live bait, and you can target a specific species of fish easier. If you’re looking for a specific type of fish.”

“Any fish is good for me. They are all the same to me.”

This is the longest they’ve ever spoken. Jean shouldn’t feel so nervous, yet she finds herself not sure what to say. “Oh. Uh, well, you can always try a lure for fun! There’s one called the Jig.”

“The Jig?”

“Yeah.”

“The Jig,” the woman repeats once more.

She pauses for an incredibly long time as she contemplates. The line behind her grows longer. Minutes pass. Tensions build. Jean glances behind her, slightly panicking. She can see the growing unrest of the group. They are many while Jean is just one. She would be overtaken easily. Or perhaps one will complain to the manager. One older woman stares holes into Jean’s head. She says nothing, but the psychic damage is enough to move a mountain.

Finally, the woman answers, “I’ll take one.”

Jean lets out a sigh of relief. She rings the items up at lightning speed.

“Thank you for shopping at Bass Pro- ah, you already know the whole ordeal. I see you here often enough. What’s your name so I can remember it?”

“Clare.”

 _Clare_. Not at all the answer she was expecting but an answer nonetheless.

Jean celebrates her small victory with a state mandated lunch break.

The break room is, as all break rooms are, dismal. Jean walks in to grab her jacket. For some reason, her name is on the board titling her the employee of the month. That was not there when she clocked in. There has never been an employee of the month board ever before. And to top it off, it’s the middle of May.

As she slips her jacket on, the door opens. A fellow coworker steps in, shoulders wide enough she has to shuffle in the door sideways. The two make eye contact and give that awkward smile reserved only for coworkers in citations where you are not at work.

“Hey, Undine,” says Jean.

“Hey, Jean. You going to lunch?” The woman wonders.

“I am. Are you?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s weird considering we’re the only two people who seem to be working here right now.”

Undine shrugs. “The boss said to take my break now.”

“Like in person?”

“Yeah.”

Jean squints at her coworker. “You actually saw her? Speaking to you?”

“Yeah? Have you not seen her?”

“Never.” She shakes her head.

“How have you not seen her?” Undine asks, brow furrowing with confusion. “I see her every day.”

“I’ve literally never seen her, Undine. I’m dead serious.”

“You’re pulling my leg.”

“I’m not! I couldn’t tell you the color of her hair. I haven’t even seen her in passing,” Jean says.

“I’m still having trouble believing you. How many arms does she have?”

“Is this a trick question?”

“Oh my god. You really haven’t seen the boss before.”

\----

“Why are you back?” Jean asks, completely forgoing her customer filter.

Clare looks at her like a chicken with her head cut off but in the most monotone way possible. “I need a new fishing rod.”

“Already?”

“It’s only been a week,” she states in a way that suggests she thinks that is normal.

“Most people buy a new fishing pole like, once a year? Once per season at most. You’ve bought one every single week for the past two months. Where are you even getting all this money from?” Jean asks exasperatedly.

“I have my connections.”

 _With who?_ is the first thought that pops into Jean’s head. She decides some questions are best left unanswered.

“Either way, I’m very impressed,” she comments.

“With my connections?” Clare responds, “I only have one.”

“No. Your dedication to fishing. I don’t even know how to cast a line.”

“Really?” This seems to intrigue Clare. It’s the most emotion Jean has ever seen her show. “You know so much about rods and lures I figured you were an avid fisherman yourself.”

Jean laughs, “I’ve never gone fishing before. I just work here.”

At that, Clare frowns, and Jean feels like she failed this woman.

“I’m sad to hear that,” Clare says, “You should go sometime.”

“Are there any good fishing spots around here?”

“Every spot is a good fishing spot. If you don’t catch anything, it is because you’re not worthy.”

“Maybe you should show me how,” Jean mutters under her breath.

“What?”

She didn’t realize she said that out loud. The two women blink at each other in complete silence. The sole customer waiting behind her in line walks off to another section of the store.

Jean clears her throat, suddenly finding it hard to make eye contact. “That was a, uh, a joke. I didn-”

“I’ll take you. This weekend starting Saturday. Claymore Creek. Six am sharp. If you show up any later, I will assume you're dead and go off on my own,” Clare says suddenly.

“I’ll be there! You have my word,” Jean squeaks. She curses her inability to act normal around this woman for two seconds.

“Good. Now, I take my leave. I look forward to seeing you this weekend.”

“Me too.”

A compliment _and_ an invitation. Jean might as well have won the lottery. Her chances are about the same.

With that, Clare pays for her new fishing rod. In cash as usual, but this time, she waits for Jean to give her her change.

“Someone’s got a crush,” a booming voice comes from behind her.

Jean whips around and instinctively puts her assailant into a chokehold. Then, she realizes it is Undine. She does not let go.

“What do you want?” She asks, tightening her hold.

Undine bursts out laughing. “I’ve never seen you so flustered before! Do you have a crush on fish girl?”

“Fish girl has a name, and it is Clare. Please refer to her as such,” Jean grumbles.

“So you know fish girl’s name, and you’re going on a weekend trip with her. Sounds like a date to me.”

“It’s not a date. It’s an _outing_ ,” she corrects her. There’s no way it’s a date. They barely know each other’s names.

“The only outing going on here is your gay ass leaving the closet.” Undine grins. She snorts at her own joke.

“Says the girl who can’t admit her feelings to her own crush.”

“I don’t have a crush on Flora.”

“I never said any names,” Jean tuts at her.

Undine punches her in the gut.

"Hey! No punching at work,” Jean scolds her.

"Then no headlocks at work either."

She lets go of her. "Fair point."

Undine jabs her in the shoulder. "We're even now. So tell me about this new girlfriend of yours."

"She's not my girlfriend. She's just taking me on a fishing trip this weekend."

"Sounds like fun. Where are you going?"

"Claymore Creek."

"Romantic."

"Is it?"

"Yeah. Super homosexual."

"Then, you should take Flora there some time."

"Shut up!"

\----

As the weekend approaches, Jean slowly comes to the realization that she doesn't have Clare's number. Or Snapchat or Facebook or anything of the sort. All Jean has is a time and a vague idea of a place. Clare's words still linger in her head, so she wakes up at 3am just to be on the safe side. She ends up arriving at the park an hour early.

So she waits an entire hour in the dim light of the early morning. Time passes slowly. She checks her phone. 5:15am. She checks her phone again. 5:16am. Again. Still 5:16am.

Her eyes droop, and she finds herself on the brink of sleep. She has to fight it off. Clare could show up at any minute. Still, the irresistible allure of sleep beckons to her like a siren’s call. Jean can barely stand it. She has to fight back. She smashes the car radio on and turns the dial up. Harsh radio static greets her. She flicks through the channels until she finds something that vaguely resembles music. A wailing guitar overpowers the screaming from the vocals. It shakes the entire car, and forcibly shakes Jean awake.

It's loud enough to keep her from falling asleep and loud enough she doesn't hear the tapping on her window. Suddenly, the door opens, and Jean screams. Instinctively, she kicks at the random assailant. However, the person dodges perfectly.

"Hey, Jean. You’re here early." comes Clare's voice, unfazed by the attack.

"Oh, hey, Clare." Jean immediately shuts the radio off. The screaming comes to an abrupt stop. "I was just relaxing with some music."

"That's how I relax before a fishing trip too."

"Well, I'm all relaxed and ready to go."

Before she gets out of the car, she glances at the time. 5:30am. The sun still isn’t up.

They walk down a trail that leads to the creek. To Jean’s dismay, Clare then diverts from the path to follow along the water. She holds two fishing poles over her shoulder and in the other hand a tackle box. Jean came empty handed. She has no idea what would be hospitable to bring on a fishing trip. So she walks behind Clare holding nothing. Somehow even with two fishing poles, Clare manages to duck and weave around the tree branches without a problem. Jean wants to enjoy the scenery, but finds herself unable to with everything in her path trying to trip her the second she loses concentration.

Suddenly, her foot snags on a tree root. Jean topples over in what feels like slow motion, heading straight for the creek. Her life flashes before her eyes, and she braces for the end. A firm hand comes out to grab her by the back of her shirt. Clare holds her steady as she dangles before her impending doom. Then, she effortlessly pulls her back onto steady ground.

"Clare, you saved me," Jean says in amazement, "Thank you."

"Your life was not in danger. The creek is quite shallow here and not very strong. You would have just gotten wet or maybe trench foot at the very worst," Clare responds.

"Well, you still saved me. I owe you my life now."

"I would prefer you keep your life for yourself."

"No. I'm yours now," Jean says jokingly. Although, she is not quite sure if she means it as a joke.

“So be it. We’re almost to my fishing spot.” Clare continues their trek forward.

Almost there turns into an entire half an hour of walking. They tromp through the woods for what feels like forever. The ground starts to pitch downward, and the creek moves faster. Eventually, they reach a spot where the water drops a few feet. It pools out at the bottom. Clare sets her gear down at the bank.

“This is the place,” she says.

“Is this your usual fishing spot?” Jean wonders.

“No. My preferred fishing spot is a trade secret. I don’t give that information out to just anyone. Only the people I trust the most.”

“Right. Besides, we’re just here to fish. It doesn’t matter where we do that.”

Clare looks at her horrified. “The fishing spot is one of the most important parts of the fishing experience. Now, put on these rubber boots. She hands Jean what must be the tallest pair of rubber boots she has ever seen. Once on her body, they climb well past her knees. They look more like stiff pants than anything else.

Once Clare has her own boots situated, she steps into the water, fishing rod in hand.

“We’re fishing for brook trout,” she explains, “The water may be moving fast, but they are in there. We just have to cast a few times to get used to the flow.”

“Got it.” Jean nods in a way that insinuates she has no idea what the other woman just said.

“Now, you see the white water?”

“I see it.”

“You don’t want to cast in there. You want to run the bait to the calmer waters a few feet away from the white water. It’s too rough for the trout, so they like to hang back where it’s calmer. If you can get your lure to hang behind a rock, you’re golden. That’s where the trout like to reside.”

Jean takes in this information as diligently as possible. She has no idea what she is doing. She has gone fishing at most once in a dream.

Clare casts her line first. She angles herself, puts her rod backward, and beckons her line forth. The hook falls into the water with a gentle plop. The line loosens then tightens as it moves downstream. She reels it in slightly to position the lure behind a rock.

“Perfect,” she says to herself. She looks at Jean expectantly.

Jean steps up to bat. Her boots splash in the cold water. She can feel the pressure of the river at her feet. Now, her time comes. She angles herself, trying to mimic Clare’s movements. She fails miserably. The line goes slack and gets stuck on a rock.

Clare tuts at her, “Your form is all wrong. Your body is much too tense, and your cast is slow.”

“Sorry. I’ve never done this before.”

“That’s why I’m here to teach you.” She reels in her own line. “Watch closely.”

Step by step, she walks Jean through the process of casting. It starts with the form. Firm feet make for a more accurate toss. Then, the line. One cannot let out too much line or else they risk tangling. Jean lets out her line before stopping it abruptly. It falls into the water, moving downstream until the line tightens.

“You want the line out enough that you can catch the bigger fish, but not too long that you’ll take too long reeling it in,” Clare explains, “The longer it takes, the more likely you are to lose it. However, when you’re fishing in a lake, there’s advantages to longer lines to get bigger fish.”

Jean tries again. She feels this cast is decent, but that is not enough to satisfy Clare.

“Try again,” she tuts at her.

“Like this?” Jean does so. It is still not satisfactory. Clare positions herself directly behind the other woman.

“I’ll show you.” She places her hands on Jean’s, repositioning them to properly grip the handle. Her touch is surprisingly gentle. It throws Jean off. Every muscle in her body tenses.

“You need to relax,” says Clare, sensing her every movement.

Jean cannot relax for the life of her. Not when Clare is homoerotically caressing her on a river bank.

“Now, position your feet apart.” Clare kicks Jean’s foot into place.

“Swing back.” She moves Jean with her, pivoting her shoulders.

“And toss.”

The line goes out, plopping into the white waters. It moves downstream until it goes taut. As if by magic, something starts pulling. It tugs left and right, taking the pole with it. Jean grips tight, not sure what to do.

“What’s that?” She asks.

“You got a bite,” Clare says, still squishing the other woman into her. Her grip is incredibly strong.

“What do I do?”

“Reel it in.”

“Right,” Jean answers as if she has any idea of how to do that. She thinks back to her childhood playing Sega Bass Fishing at Chuck-E-Cheese. If it taught her one thing, it is how to reel. Instinct takes over. Her hands move on their own. The fish fights back, but Jean persists with a fierce determination.

“You got this. Keep going,” Clare encourages her. Jean finds it hard to focus when the woman is practically hugging her from behind. She continues to reel it in, not stopping until she prevails. Suddenly, the fish surfaces from the water, flopping and flailing against the surface. Jean holds tight to the pole. Slowly but surely, she manages to pull it in.

Clare pulls it off the hook. The fish is incredibly small in her hands. Jean’s face flushes with embarrassment when she sees the size of it. However, she has no idea what size a brook trout is supposed to be.

“Good job,” Clare says, holding the fish in her hands, “This is a good first catch. Next time, we’ll aim for something bigger.”

“I’ll do my best,” Jean answers.

After an hour, Jean has a good handle on fishing. She can cast and reel on her own without Clare’s help. Clare seems lost in her own world as she fishes. The two stay silent as they fish, rubber boots in the water. It is a comfortable silence.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hkajgsfhjksadlkjfsafs

"How'd it go?" Undine asks, leaning on the counter. She grins at Jean, waggling her eyebrows in the most infuriating way.

"We fished," Jean says plainly.

"And? Did you reel her in like a pro?"

"No. We fished. That's it."

"And I bet she's a real catch," her coworker continues to pester her, going so far as to playfully nudge her shoulder."

"Do you ever stop talking?" Jean rolls her eyes.

"Nope."

"Don't you have work to be doing?"

"Yep."

"Shouldn't you be doing it?" She asks, trying to be more obvious. Her glares seem to have no effect on her coworker.

Undine does not care. "This is much more fun."

"Where's the manager when I need her?" As if she would ever show her face.

"Oh, c'mon. Don't you wanna talk to me?"

"I would love to have a conversation with you, but all you seem capable of doing is making up things about my non-existent love life."

"Your love life exists. You just refuse to acknowledge it. Admit it. You like fish girl."

"Her name is not fish girl. It is Clare, and I like her as a friend," Jean says through gritted teeth.

"You mean a girlfriend," the other woman teases her. Her tone reminds Jean of a snotty younger brother from a Disney show.

"Speaking of girlfriends, Flora's coming."

Undine nearly jumps out of her skin. She nervously glances around. "What? Where? She wasn't scheduled to come in today."

"So you admit you know her schedule."

"There's only three employees that work here, dumbass. I know your schedule too. It ain’t hard."

"Hello, friends." A third much more polite voice joins the fray. Jean looks up to see a particularly tall woman with curly hair coming down to her shoulders. One loch covers her eye. She brushes it out of the way only for it to immediately fall back.

Undine stands up and straightens her back, trying and failing to act nonchalant. She coolly leans on the counter only to miss and nearly crash to the floor. 

She clears her throat. "Hey, Flora. Long time no see. What are you doing here?"

"I was called in to work by our manager," Flora replies.

"Why?" Jean asks. There is no one else in the store.

"I am not sure why. She didn't specify."

"Say, Flora, have you seen the manager before?"

"Irene? Of course I have. She is a very lovely individual if not a little... eccentric."

This is the first time Jean is hearing this name. "Her name is Irene?"

Flora nods. "Yes. Did you not know that?"

"I've never seen this woman before. I thought her name was Ilena."

"Ilena? I mean no offense, Jean, but she's our boss. You should know her name. Did you not see her during the interview?"

"Nope. I just sent in my application and got a call back saying when my first day was. I've had absolutely no formal training," Jean says.

"Come to think of it, I haven't either," Undine adds in.

"I have, and I am very concerned as to why you both haven't been trained."

"Maybe you should show Undine how to work the cash register," Jean suggests.

"That's a brilliant idea! I just take the burden of training upon myself," Flora beams, "Starting with you,. Undine."

"Me? I can do everything just fine."

"Nonsense," Jean interjects, "I once saw you put a credit card in the register and give cash back."

Flora's eyes go wide. "I'm training you right this instant. It is decided. Come with me, please. If you will."

She takes Undine by the hand and starts dragging her toward the front of the store. Undine throws Jean a look of desperation, but Jean has no sympathy to give her. She waves goodbye and smiles.

Finally, some peace and quiet.

\----

The next week, Jean comes in to work as usual. The first thing she notices is the “B” missing from Bass Pro Shops. This is normal. Wait. No it isn’t. Jean looks up again. The “B” is still missing, branding the store with its new identity as “Ass Pro Shops”. Either way, she’ll get her paycheck at the end of the week.

“Jean! Just the guy I was looking for!” Comes Undine’s hearty voice from behind.

Reluctantly, Jean turns around to meet her coworker. “Hello, Undine.”

“Check it out! I just got a new job at Ass Pro Shops.” Undine elbows her friend in the side as if that would make her joke any funnier.

Jean looks at her with tired eyes. “Yes. I am aware of what happened to the sign.”

“You guys! This is terrible!” Flora joins in on the chaos.

Immediately, Undine straightens her back. “Yes. This is the absolute worst thing that could ever happen.” She punches her fists together decisively. “Who would do something so evil? We must catch whatever heinous culprit did this!”

“That’s such a brave thing to say.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I bet you’ll figure out who did this in no time,” Flora says.

“Me?”

“Yeah.”

Jean adds in, “You two should work together on this. Two heads are better than one or something.”

Flora gasps, “Jean, you’re a genius. Maybe Irene will have us do an overnight stakeout together.”

“That’s ridiculous. Even that’s a little much for a single letter on a sign.” Jean rolls her eyes at the idea.

They walk into the store. Already, the corporate music plays over the speakers. It is some strange mix of sped up pop songs mixed with Nickelback. Jean has never questioned it mostly out of fear of the unknown. What she doesn’t know cannot hurt her. She hopes. At this point, the terribly high pitched music is just a quiet buzz in her ears.

Undine opens the gates while Jean opens her register. She takes her station in the fishing area. Flora makes her way to the other side of the store to do god knows what. Besides the big news, the rest of the day goes by normally.

The next morning comes along unfortunately fast. Surprisingly enough, the “B” has returned to its rightful place, thus dubbing Ass Pro Shops as Bass Pro Shops once more. As Jean walks in, she sees a face she does not recognize. Before her stands a taller pale woman with hair longer than what could ever be deemed practical. She is dressed entirely black with thigh high leather boots and appears to be missing an arm. She looks more like a death metal singer than a Bass Pro Shop customer. All of this is overshadowed by the fact that this woman is setting up a bear trap in the middle of the store.

“Um, ma’am, you can’t test the merchandise in the middle of the store,” Jean says worriedly.

The woman looks up at her, a scowl on her face. “Jean, as the owner of this establishment, I can do as I please.”

 _Wait._ Jean has a small existential crisis. “Excuse me?”

“Do you not recognize your own boss when you see her?”

Undine comes in at the worst moment. “Good morning, Irene!”

“We are not on a first name basis,” the woman answers.

“Sorry, miss-”

“We are not on a name basis. Do not refer to me.”

“Right away, uh, no one in particular.” Undine salutes her for no particular reason. Jean is not sure what to make of the whole situation.

“Can someone please explain what is going on?” She asks.

“Is it not obvious?” Irene answers.

“It’s not. Not at all.”

“Ah, I see. I’m setting up a trap to catch the culprit who stole our precious ‘B’. Unfortunately for them, I am an expert tracker and hunter. They’ll be caught in no time.”

“And then what?”

Irene looks at her as if she is trying to speak to her using subliminal messaging. It is not working. “Oh, you know.”

Jean absolutely does not know, and the implications terrify her. She decides not to question it further.

The “B” is missing once more by the time Jean returns to work the next morning. She catches Irene stomping and brooding angrily, muttering curses under her breath. She holds a broken bear trap in her single hand. Jean decides not to comment or even think about the whole ordeal. She passes Irene by without saying a word. Her boss does not seem to care.

Jean takes her post in the fishing area. As usual, there are no customers. Just aisles upon aisles of fishing gear collecting dust. Jean wonders how the store has stayed open all these years. Thoughts of Clare dance in the back of her mind. She hasn’t seen her in a while; she wonders how she is doing.

To her dismay, Undine walks over to interrupt her wonderful daydreaming sequence.

“Did you ask fish girl out yet?” She wonders, as nosy as ever.

“Don’t you have something else to be doing?” Jean responds, “Such as longingly staring at Flora while she stocks the shelves?”

“I don’t do that,” the other refuses. After a small pause she adds, “Okay, maybe once.”

“So you admit you like her.”

“Our relationship is sacred. You wouldn’t understand.” Undine crosses her arms and frowns.

“Have you ever hung out outside of work?”

“No,” she answers quietly. She stares down at the floor bashfully.

“Then, ask her out. You have her phone number and everything,” Jean insists.

“The only reason we exchanged numbers was in case I needed to ask her to cover a shift for me.”

“And now you have a second reason,” she continues, “Just ask her out already.”

“Bro, I can’t do that! What if she says no? Or worse, she says yes? I don’t know what I would even do.” Undine responds nervously. Her voice squeaks.

“If you don’t ask her out, I will.”

“What? No!”

“Fine. I’ll do everything myself.” Jean shoves her. “Give me your phone.”

“Why? You have your own- oh. No. Absolutely not.” Undine backs up. She puts her hands up defensively.

“C’mon. Just one text. She’ll say yes. I promise.” Jean reaches for her friend’s back pocket.

“Hey! Don’t make me call HR.”

“Oh, please. You touch my ass at least every other day.”

“In my defense, it’s very toned.”

“Shut up and give me your phone already.”

“No!”

Despite Undine’s sheer strength, Jean manages to maneuver her against the counter to pin her with her body weight. Undine stares down at her, struggling against her. It makes Jean wish she were a couple inches taller than perhaps she could actually be intimidating for once. She slips her hand into her back pocket only to find it empty. Her other hand snakes around to check the other one. It pulls their bodies closer together, putting their faces mere centimeters apart.

“What are you two doing?” Flora asks, suddenly appearing out of thin air.

The two women freeze, staring at the other in pure horror. Undine nearly faints. Jean casually removes her hands from her friend’s back pockets.

“Nothing,” Jean answers as if that is at all believable.

Flora gives them a strange look. “Are you sure? It kinda looked like you two were about to… ah, it must be my imagination. Don’t mind me.” Her voice trails off.

“No. You’re right. We were gonna kiss in a very homosexual manner.”

Undine nearly dies right there. “Jean!”

Flora turns a light shade of crimson at the statement. She looks to Undine with the most polite smile plastered on her face. “Oh, Undine, I had no idea you two were...”

“We’re not dating, don’t worry,” Jean clarifies for her. It does little to actually explain the scenario.

Flora is left confused as ever. “O-okay. Good to know."

“Speaking of dates, do you wanna go bowling with us sometimes soon?”

“Bowling?”

“It’s when you roll a ball down a lane to hit some pins,” Undine says.

“I know what bowling is, Undine, but thank you,” Flora answers. She purses her lips as she thinks. “That sounds like fun.”

“Cool.” Jean pulls her phone out. “I think we’re all free Sunday night if you’re into that. We can meet at the XXX Lane.”

“Why that one?” Undine wonders, “Isn’t that one a little skeevy?”

“Since when has that ever deterred you?”

She nods toward Flora who has no idea what is going on. Jean nods. “Right. Well, it’s the only bowling alley in town, so we’ll have to survive.”

“Sounds like a date,” Flora says with a smile, “A friend date between friends.”

“And I’ll do the honors of being the third wheel,” Jean adds. Undine nonchalantly punches her in the gut.

\----

Fishing season means sometimes customers actually do show up. Jean enjoys being occupied. There is only so much organizing one can do before needing a much needed change from the routine. However, it has been days, and Jean has yet to see Clare. Perhaps she figured out how to not break her fishing poles. Jean feels conflicted as although Clare will now be creating a lot less waste, it also means she won’t be coming to the store as often. Jean shakes it off. She has no time to worry about Clare. Are they even friends? The thought of not being friends hurts.

Then, she sees her. Those familiar bangs appear in the aisle, and there is Clare standing and staring mindlessly at the fishing rods. Jean’s heart skips a beat although she is not sure why.

“Clare!” She says a bit too enthusiastically. She clears her throat and tries to act calmer. It does not work.

Her shout catches the woman’s attention. Clare snaps out of her fishing daze and looks to Jean. She smiles at the sight of her friend (although neither of them are sure if they are friends at this point).

“Hello,” answers Clare. She walks up to the counter, cutting someone in line. He says something, but neither Jean nor Clare pay him any attention. He huffs and storms off to another part of the store.

“I haven’t seen you in a while,” Jean says, trying not to sound too excited. She leans on the counter nonchalantly. Her hands are coated with sweat, and her heart is beating much faster than it should.

“I’ve been practicing my fishing technique. The rod lasted me over a week.”

“You’re getting better.”

“Thank you.”

The conversation drops there. Neither woman has any idea of what to say next. A million questions run through Jean’s head, but she cannot bring herself to ask any of them.

So Undine does it for her. The woman walks up, her steps boasting mal intent. She grins when she sees Clare.

“Well, would you look at this! It’s Jean’s new gal pal!”

“Gal pal?” Clare responds, staring at her blankly.

“It’s a- ah, nevermind. It’s an inside joke.” Undine frowns. 

“Why are you here?” Jean asks. She tries to telepathically will the woman away, but Undine is stubborn.

“The same reason I’m always here. I’m goofing off.”

“Go goof off somewhere else. I’m helping a customer right now.”

"It doesn't count if it's Clare. She's a friend."

Clare perks up at that statement. "Jean, do you consider me a friend?"

This is the first time Clare has referred to her by name. Jean doesn't know how to feel about it. Her chest flutters with an odd mix of emotions.

"Me? Friend?" She blurts out without thinking.

"Friend. Yes. You," Clare says.

"You. Friend. Yes," Jean replies equally disjointed.

"I am?"

"Yes."

She has no idea what is happening. Undine watches with utter glee. "You two are just the cutest! Say, Clare, are you doing anything Sunday night?'

"I am," answers Clare, "Night is when I sleep."

"Well, instead of sleeping, how about you come join me and Jean for bowling?"

"Bowling?"

"It's when you roll a ball down a lane and hit pins."

"I am aware of the existence of bowling. I am just considering your offer."

"And?"

"I will do it," Clare decides, "Please tell me the exact time and location."

"Triple X Lanes and seven o’clock," Undine says.

"AM or PM?"

"PM."

"I suppose that makes much more sense."

Jean finds herself insanely jealous watching the two of them converse so casually. She has built their relationship up for weeks, and stupid sexy Undine waltzes in and invites her to go bowling like it is nothing. At least she will third wheel no longer. They have a full set of tires ready to drive straight into oncoming traffic. Undine should not have a license.

\----

The three end up carpooling despite it all. Undine picks Jean up at her apartment. She ducks into the car, wondering how such a large woman can fit inside a 2003 Honda Civic. Undine smacks her head on the ceiling as she turns to greet her friend.

"Where's Flora?" Jean wonders, glancing in the back seat as if she would be there.

"We're picking her up now," Undine answers.

"Why didn't you pick her up first?"

"Because we would be in the car alone."

"Exactly. That’s what you want."

"Dude, I can't do that! I'll die," she whines.

"You're a baby." Jean rolls her eyes.

"Says the person who can't ask fish girl out. You’re welcome for that, by the way.” Undine slaps her shoulder, causing her to veer slightly off the road. She quickly readjusts their trajectory.

“Oh, shush.”

“Speaking of, are we picking her up too?"

"I don't think so," Jean says, "I don't know where she lives."

"Just text her, dude."

"I don't have her number either."

"Dude!" Her friend punches her in the shoulder once more.

"What? It never came up,” Jean argues.

“If you don’t get her number by the end of the night, I’m gonna date your girlfriend for you.”

“You’re not gonna date Clare.”

“Aha!” Undine exclaims loud enough to make the neighboring car turn their heads. “So you admit you wanna date Clare.”

“What? No. You’re reaching.”

“I am not. You’re in love with her like chicken in soup,” she insists.

“That makes absolutely no sense.”

“No. It makes sense. People say it.”

“The light’s green, dumbass.” Jean smacks her friend in the back of the head. A car blares its horn behind them. Undine floors it.

The car is much quieter once Flora gets in the car. Admittedly, Jean has never seen her outside of work. The woman looks starkly different without her uniform on, and Jean almost did not recognize her if it were not for her curly hair and doe eyes. She sits in the back with her hands folded neatly in her lap. Undine hunches over, looking ready to have an aneurysm. She grips the steering wheel until her knuckles turn white. Jean, with no other idea of what to do, turns the radio on to ease the tension. And so they drive in complete silence to the backdrop of Katy Perry's Last Friday Night (TGIF). It is a Sunday evening. Jean has lost all sense of self.

They arrive later than seven. Jean worries that Clare may have left already. However, to her surprise, she catches sight of a familiar brown bob when they walk in. Jean breathes a sigh of relief.

“Is that her?” Undine nudges Jean in the side. “Let’s go say hi.”

“I mean, we literally invited her here. I would hope we say hi to her,” Jean replies.

“Then, go say hi to her.” Her friend pushes her in the right direction.

“Okay. Have fun with Flora.”

“Oh, no.”

Jean approaches Clare much like a zookeeper would approach a hungry tiger. Her steps are careful and deliberate. It is not until they make eye contact that she approaches closer.

“Hey, Clare. Sorry we’re late. Undine likes to drive slow,” Jean says.

Undine actually likes to run red lights and go ten mph over the speed limit at any given moment. Flora played driving instructor the entire way there, forcing the trip to take an extra fifteen minutes. Jean did not mind. She would prefer not to become a car sandwich before going on a date. Wait. Friend date. Not a real date.

“That’s okay. I know you’re a punctual person,” Clare answers, “And more importantly, you keep your promises.”

“Why thank you.”

“So, are we going to… bowl?” She pauses between the two words as if foreign to the concept of bowling. She makes a vague gesture with her hands.

“Yes. Unlike fishing, bowling is my area of expertise,” Jean boasts. In fact, she stopped using the bumpers last year.

“I hope you’ll teach me your ways.”

“I will! I’ve been working on this technique I like to call ‘The Drill’. I curve the ball to give it more momentum down the lane.”

“That sounds quite interesting.”

“It is! Or at least, I think it is.”

Now, comes the hardest part: officially introducing Clare to her idiot friends without scaring her off for good. Flora is polite enough. Her calm demeanor should make sure nothing terrible happens because of her. Given their similarities, Clare should be able to tolerate her.

Undine is another story. She has a vendetta against Jean when it comes to embarrassing her in front of potential partners and will do everything in her power to make sure the experience is as embarrassing for Jean as possible. Perhaps they could both leave now. Call it a night. Jean gets to bed early and doesn't have any leftover feelings in the morning. It all works out.

"Where are you friends?" Clare asks.

There's no turning back now.

"Over there," Jean says, trying not to have a panic attack, "C'mon."

"Hey, idiot." Undine grins when the two approach. "What's your shoe size?"

"Eight."

"Only eight? I thought you were bigger."

"Oh, shush. At least I can actually buy shoes, unlike you, you freak of nature."

"Ten isn't that big."

"Ten?" Flora gasps, “That’s enormous.”

"I wear men's shoes," Undine says.

With bowling shoes equipped, it is high time to bowl. Undine chooses the heaviest ball. Flora searches out a pink one and ends up with a lighter ball meant for children. Jean and Clare choose something in the middle of the road. Although, Clare seems to struggle with the weight of her ball.

Undine sits at the captain's chair and types in everyone's name. She snickers like a middle schooler as she types in Jean's initials as ASS instead of something appropriate. There are plenty of young children around to witness the monstrosity. Of course, everyone else's name stays the same.

Flora goes first. Undine made sure to let her bowl before her. Everyone watches as the woman daintily grabs a hold of her bowling ball. With a tight form, she strides to the line. Undine leans in, unabashedly staring at her from behind. Flora reaches the line. Her arm swings forward with the momentum, and she lets go of the ball. It smacks against the wood of the lane and travels along at a decent pace. It veers slightly to the left, missing the front pin. Instead, most of the pins fall down. Three remain. Flora does a small fist pump to cheer herself on. Undine claps vigorously.

"Nice one!" She compliments her.

"Thank you," Flora says, "I haven't bowled in a while."

"I wouldn't be able to tell."

Jean leans back in her chair and rolls her eyes. "Suck up."

Flora bowls her recond round, managing to hit two out of the three pins. She snaps her fingers with disappointment. "I'll get it next time."

Clare goes next. She walks up to the ball rack, picking hers from the selection. Jean watches closely, observing her every move. Clare's steps are unsure, and she begins on the wrong foot. Her release is strong, but her wrist twists. The ball immediately goes into the gutter.

"Oh," she says quietly.

Jean hops up, seeing her opportunity. "You showed me how to fish, let me show you how to bowl."

"Thank you, Jean."

She picks up her own ball to use as an example. "You hold it like this. Keep your wrist stiff for more ball control."

Undine snorts. "Ball control."

"I don't get it," Flora says.

Jean ignores them. This is her moment, and she will not let her annoying friend ruin it. "You want to end on your opposite foot, start with the ball back here, and swing forward. Let go at about this point for the best speed."

"I see. Let me try," Clare replies. She backs up a couple steps and closes her eyes as if imagining what to do next. Then, she steps forward with much more confidence. The ball rolls down the lane, knocking down three whole pins.

"That's much better! Keep practicing, and you'll be getting strikes in no time."

The first few frames go by easily enough. Undine starts to show her competitive side despite Flora being there to witness her in all her greasy glory. Jean, of course, steps up to the challenge. She rolls consistent spares, even managing to pick off a split. Clare usually manages to get at least four pins per bowl. Jean applauds her every time.

"All this bowling is making me thirsty," Undine says.

"I think Flora can help with that," Jean comments.

"You stop that right this instant."

Flora perks up at the sound of her name. "Would you like me to go get water for everyone?"

"Undine, you should go with her," Jean says, "Get us some food." She tosses ten dollars at her. "Nachos are good."

"I think Flora has this handled," Undine replies dismissively.

"No. I think she'll need your very strong capable hands to help her over there all alone without us."

She thinks for a moment, then the realization hits her. "Alright. I'll help her. Hopefully, you and Clare won't get too lonely by yourselves."

Jean's eyes go wide. "Wait-"

"I'm not waiting. I'm hungry now." Her friend waves goodbye. Flora follows, and Jean and Clare are alone.

Suddenly, Jean finds herself very nervous. "So, uh, are you having fun?"

Clare nods. "I'm having a blast, as they call it."

"Really? We could do this again sometime."

"Perhaps just the two of us."

Jean chokes on her own breath. "W-what makes you say that?"

"Your one friend is very loud. Flora can join us, though. She is very polite."

"Oh. Undine is quite loud, but she's kinda nice once you get to know her. Kinda."

"I still don't want to be her friend." Clare frowns.

"Do you want to be mine?" Jean asks, heart suddenly racing.

"Yes."

It feels as if she won the lottery. Jean uses all her strength not to exclaim aloud.

The night continues on without incident. Undine switched between longing stares, bowling strikes, and bothering Jean. Clare bowls clumsy frame after clumsy frame. Flora constantly reminds everyone to drink water. Undine seems to turn her water into Gatorade like some sort of jock Jesus.

Soon, their game turns into a competition. Undine bowls her second strike in a row, daring Jean to step up to the challenge. Jean, of course, cannot say no. If she wins, Clare would be thoroughly impressed with her.

“Let’s raise the stakes,” Undine says before Jean can bowl her frame.

Jean unhands her bowling ball, turning to look at the other woman. She is always in the mood for some friendly competition if that competition involves embarrassing Undine in the process. “What did you have in mind?”

She motions for Jean to come closer. The woman obliges her, stepping closer so the two are practically touching. Undine leans in to whisper in her ear. “If I win, you gotta ask fish girl out.”

Jean turns a bright red. “I’m not doing that.”

“Chicken.”

“Ugh, fine. But if I win you have to...” She drops her voice to a whisper as she notices the other two intently watching them. “Ask Flora out.”

Now, Undine flusters with embarrassment. “Dude, no way.”

“Chicken.”

“Okay. Fine. I’ll kick your ass.”

The stakes have never been higher. Jean feels ready to explode from the adrenaline rush. Sweat drips down her body. She pushes her hair back out of her face. This should be easy enough. All she needs is a strike, and she wins.

Fuck. Immediately, Jean forgets everything she knows about bowling.

“It’s your turn, dummy,” Undine says to her.

Jean tightens her hands into fists. With a deep breath, she regains her confidence from earlier. She has to do this. For Clare. But more importantly, to humiliate her coworker.

She stands up, walking with confidence to the hardwood floor. Her bowling shoes clack in a confident rhythm. Carefully, she picks up her bowling ball, weighing it in her hands. She takes a deep breath in and out. This is it. This is her moment.

She approaches the line, counting the steps in her head. Start on the left foot. Measure each stride perfectly. Bend slightly. Arm back. Wrist straight. Eye the target. Release. Destroy the target.

The bowling ball hits the lane with a satisfying sound. Her heart pounds in her chest as she watches it roll. Sweat drips off her body. Her vision starts to go blurry.

Crash!

Jean cannot believe her eyes. An X blinks on the screen with the initials ASS underneath. Flora leaps up to cheer. She takes Clare by the hand to make her do the same. Clare seems confused by the action, but enthusiastic nonetheless. Undine looks ready to buy a shovel and go bury herself outside. Flora nudges her, and her demeanor changes to a forced sportsmanship stance. She walks over to Jean and holds her hand out.

"Good job," she says, "But I'll get you next time."

“Have fun on your date.” Jean returns the polite gesture only to find Undine's grip nearly unbearable. She squeezes back with equal intensity, and the two stare daggers into each other. Eventually, Jean has to let go. She nonchalantly shakes the pain out of her now compressed hand.

Afterward, it comes time to leave. It is well past nine, and Clare claims she needs to go to bed soon. Jean walks her to her car. Undine sends her off with a gentle nudge, silently sending a message with her gaze.

"I will," Jean answers out loud. However, she is not sure how she will complete such a feat. When in doubt, ask.

"Hey, Clare," she starts.

"Yes?" Clare responds, looking at her curiously.

"Do you have a phone?"

Wrong question, but she can make it work.

"I do."

"May I have your number?" Jean manages to get out

"Which number?" Clare asks.

The question is odd enough to make Jean consider which number she is actually asking for.

"Uh, your phone number?"

"Oh. I suppose that would make sense." Her friend reaches into her jacket pocket and produces a small flip phone.

 _Do they still make those?_ Jean wonders, but decides not to question her friend on the matter.

Clare flips open her outdated phone, clicking rapidly with her thumb to get to the correct page. "You give me yours. Then, I give you mine."

Jean pulls out her phone as well. Although, it is much less archaic than Clare's. She reads off her number and patiently waits for Clare's in return.

"My number is 474-747-4747," Clare states.

Jean blinks at her. "That's seriously your phone number?"

"Is that a weird number to have?"

"Yes? We don't even live in that area code. How did you get that number?"

The other shrugs. "It was the number they gave me when I got my phone."

"Where is that area code even from?"

Another shrug.

At least it will be easy to remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [heres this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KlyXNRrsk4A) aaaaaaaaaaand uh next chapter soon i guess


	3. Chapter 3

Jean returns home still high on the adrenaline from getting Clare's number. It quickly runs out as soon as she sees her roommates huddling on the couch, one cradling a live wild animal in her arms like a baby. She quickly ages ten years at the sight. There is never a dull moment in her life, and it is starting to wear on her.

"Deneve, would you care to tell me what's going on?" She asks, "Why is Helen here?"

A woman with short hair looks up at Jean.

"Helen somehow tamed a live opossum and let it live in my car with her. I've gotten sick of how messy my car is, so I decided it best to just let her live in the apartment," she explains.

"Both her and Helen?"

"I am right here," Helen interjects, "And the possum has a name."

"Which is?" Jean wonders.

"Dog."

"Dog?"

Helen nods. "Dog."

"You named it Dog."

"Exactly."

"I see." Jean decides not to think about it for sake of her own sanity. She pinches the bridge of her nose. "So are we just keeping it now?"

"Yes. He's not just a pet. He’s my soulmate." Helen hugs the animal close. The opossum nuzzles against her lovingly. Is it purring? Jean doesn't want to think about it.

"What about me?" Deneve asks, obviously offended.

"You're my human soulmate. Dog is my pet soulmate. We're drift compatible. Watch this." Helen sets the opossum on the floor. "Dog, go get me a snack."

It scampers off into the kitchen only to return with a pop tart in its mouth. Helen holds her hand out and receives the gift. She pats Dog on the head and gives him a corner of the pastry. "Good boy."

Dog happily accepts the prize.

"I can't believe what I just witnessed," Jean says. Surely, she must be dreaming.

"To be fair, this is my first time seeing this as well," Deneve adds, also staring in shock.

"So, um, are we telling the landlord about this?"

"Absolutely not. You know he has a no pet policy."

"He'll be our little secret," says Helen, "He's a good boy. No one will ever find out."

It's strange that this isn't even the weirdest thing to happen to Jean today. Hell, it barely makes her top ten for the week.

So the group goes on with life with a fourth addition to their strange family.

Dog turns out to be a wonderful roommate. For a wild animal, he cleans up after himself much better than Helen does. At night, he hops onto the bed and pats a small nest in the blankets for him to rest. It forces Helen to sleep like a normal person, and for once, Deneve and Helen can actually sleep in the same bed.

If anything, he has brought them all closer. And after a while, Jean starts to warm up to the opossum. They sit on the couch together watching The Great British Baking Show. Jean leans back, and Dog curls up in her lap, resting his head on her knee so he can see the screen.

\----

Having Clare's number is one thing. Knowing what to text Clare is another. Jean stares at her messaging app, trying to figure out what to say. Helen hangs over her shoulder.

"Who are you texting? Or trying to text," she asks curiously.

For once, Helen might be helpful for Jean.

"I'm trying to text a new friend. The one I went fishing with. I'm not sure what to say to her."

"What are you trying to say to her?"

"I don't know. I just feel like I should say something."

"Maybe text her 'hi'. That's always a good start," Helen suggests.

"I need more than that," Jean says.

"Ask her how she's doing, then. It's not rocket science. It's a text message."

"You make it sound easy."

"Because it is easy. Hand it over."

Reluctantly, Jean hands her phone over. Helen bites her tongue as she concentrates on her message. She types for an entire three minutes.

"Done." Helen tosses the phone back in Jean's lap.

"Did you type an essay?" Jean asks concernedly.

"No. I just asked her how she's doing."

She looks at her phone, and indeed, the message just says 'hi how are you'. The grammar leaves little to be desired, but she will excuse it for now.

"Now what?" Jean wonders.

"You wait," Helen says.

She gets a text message a few days later from Clare.

**Clare:** I am fine. Thank you for checking up on me.

Jean has no idea how to respond. She stares at her phone in confusion.

**Jean:** I'm glad to hear you are doing well. May I ask why it took you three days to respond?

 **Clare:** Lost my phone in the river. Just fished it out today.

That leaves Jean with more questions than answers. Helen, again, peers over her shoulder.

"Give me that." She holds her hand out.

\----

Bass Pro Shops. Or as Jean likes to call it, her second home because bills don't pay themselves. Or, as Undine likes to call it, Ass Pro Shops. The "B" is missing once more as Jean returns to work after a wonderful day off. This is the fifth time this month. Irene is pissed. She hangs out in the hunting section fastening strings to a terrifying object of destruction.

"I need your help," she says to Jean.

Jean freezes. She knows she cannot refuse, and she finds herself extremely curious as to why Irene is attempting to attach barbed wire to a lobster trap.

"What do you need help with?" Asks Jean.

"I need you to tie a noose for me."

"If it were any other knot, I wouldn't question a thing, but I would like to know what you're using this for."

"For a trap. I need to catch that snake who's been stealing the 'B'. And what better to lure in a snake than a rat."

"Have you thought about contacting the police on this matter? I feel it might be easier to have them do it."

"Cops are useless, Jean. You can't trust them to do anything right. Es[ecially that damn mall cop Raftela," Irene answers,seemingly annoyed Jean would even suggest the idea, "You're better off getting Undine to do it." Suddenly, she perks up. "Actually, that's a brilliant idea. Where's that idiot Undine?"

"You called?" As if she has a radar for attention, Undine conveniently strolls over at that moment.

"I did. I have a job for you two."

Oh no. This cannot mean anything good. Jean regrets everything in her life leading up to this point.

"What is it?" She has to know.

"I need you two to stakeout the store tonight. I'll set you up somewhere inconspicuous, and you will not take your eyes from that 'B'. You must watch it like your life depends on it. And it does. At least in Undine's case."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Undine has to know.

Irene motions for her to step closer. Undine does so, and the other woman leans in and whispers something into her ear.

"Oh." Undine turns a bright red. She salutes out of nervousness. "I'll guard that 'B' with my life."

"There's a bee?" Flora steps in. She glances around the room excitedly. "Where?"

"On the front sign where it will hopefully stay," Irene says.

"I want to go see!" Flora skips off to go find no bees. Jean doesn't have the heart to tell her.

With Flora gone, Irene turns back to Jean and Undine. "I want you back at the store tonight at ten o'clock. Bring a camera to take a picture of the culprit red handed, then, I give you full permission to apprehend them with any means necessary."

"Any means necessary?" Undine repeats her.

Irene nods. "If you have to use lethal force, so be it."

“Oh, I can do that.”

Jean decides this is a good time to leave the conversation.

\----

The day goes on somewhat normally after that. Jean loiters in the fishing department in hopes of not seeing anyone. Instead, she sees the one person she actually wants to see.

"Clare? What are you doing here?" She perks up at the sight of her friend.

"The same reason I always come here. I need to buy a new fishing rod," Clare says.

"Oh. I can help you with that."

They go through every fishing rod together to pick out the perfect one. It takes them nearly twenty minutes. Clare cannot choose between three of them.

"Where is your quiet friend?" She wonders, "Let's have her choose which one."

"I can go find her."

"No need." Undine steps in. "I'm here!"

Clare takes a step away from her.

"Why are you here?" Jean groans.

"I just needed to tell you I can't make it to the stakeout tonight."

"What? You're leaving me alone?"

"I'm not leaving you alone! I'm gonna find you a replacement."

"Who? Flora?” She asks, knowing there are no other options given that there only seems to be three employees working there, “You know she gets nine hours of sleep a night with no exceptions. She’ll never agree to that.”

"I was thinking of asking Clare actually."

"Me?" Clare perks up at the mention of her name.

"Yeah. You," Undine says, "You seem like the attentive type. How would you like to stay overnight at Ass Pro with yours truly?"

She gestures to Jean. Clare looks at her with a contemplative look on her face. "Why are you staying overnight here?"

"We're after a felon who's been stealing the 'B' from the Bass Pro Shop sign," Undine explains, "Irene wants us to go on a stakeout to catch the felon in the act and save the store."

"Oh." Clare's eyes light up with the most emotion Jean has ever seen her show. "Well, Irene obviously knows what's best for the store. And if it means protecting the store, I'll spend the night with you, Jean."

"You're going to spend the night with me?" Jean squeaks.

Undine puts an arm around her friend. Her voice gets low and suggestive. "You two are gonna spend the entire night together. Alone. Who knows what's going to happen?"

"We're going to stare at a giant 'B' and try not to fall asleep."

"Just remember hypothermia is a bitch, so make sure you share body heat."

Jean punches her in the stomach.

"Unfortunately, she makes a good point," Clare says, "I'll make sure to bring the proper gear for our outing. Don't worry, Jean. I won't let you or Irene down."

It never occurred to Jean that she would actually have to prepare for this excursion in the parking lot. She goes to the store after work to buy snacks.

\----

The night comes quickly. Jean makes sure to pack enough snacks. She has granola bars, potato chips, water, everything deemed necessary to survive in an apocalypse scenario. Helen gives her puppy eyes until she spares her a single beef jerky strip. She snaps it in half and gives the other half to Dog.

Irene is missing by the time Jean arrives at the drop point. Two lawn chairs are laid out as well as a single cardboard box with binoculars and an old camera set up on it. Jean checks her watch. 10pm sharp. When Jean looks up, Clare is right in front of her.

"Where did you come from?" Jean yelps, leaping backwards in surprise. She trips over one of the chairs and falls onto the pavement, getting her leg stuck in the folds of the chair.

"I just got here," Clare answers simply, acting as if she did not just teleport.

“Well, take a seat. We have a long night ahead of us.” Jean struggles out of the chair’s grasp and sets it back up.

Clare takes a seat next to Jean. For safety purposes, Jean made sure to distance the chairs before Clare showed up to prevent any unnecessary tension. It seems to be working as the two sit in complete silence. Clare seems completely engrossed in the Bass Pro Shops sign. Her focus is deep enough that she does not notice Jean offering her a snack.

“Granola bar?” Jean holds it out to her.

Clare does not avert her gaze. “I will refuse this for now, but thank you.”

So Jean opens the granola bar for herself. “Alright, but don’t be afraid to eat. I brought drinks to. Uh, water. Just water.”

“Water is good.”

“Yeah. You want some?”

“No, thank you.”

At that, Jean no longer has anything to talk about, so she leans back and waits.

As the night goes on, it gets colder. A chill runs down Jean’s whole body, but it is quickly fixed by donning a thick flannel. Jean made sure to choose her best one, seeing as Clare is a hearty connoisseur of flannel herself. It seems to garner her attention.

“That’s a nice flannel,” Clare says as Jean was hoping she would, “It looks very warm.”

“Thank you,” Jean answers, “Yours looks warm as well. Where did you get yours from?”

“Bass Pro Shops.”

“Oh. You really do buy everything there, don’t you?”

“It has everything I need. However, I do take the occasional trip to the grocery store.”

“As do I.”

“We have a lot in common,” Clare mentions.

“That we do.’

Again, the conversation falls flat, but Jean does not worry. She leans back and lets herself relax. Clare leans forward, seeming more tense than ever as she stares intently at the sign, “B” still intact. Jean does the same, except finding it a bit pointless. She idly grabs the camera to examine it. It must be Irene’s camera. Much like her cell phone, it is old and dated and much too large to be of any use portably.

“I didn’t know they still make cameras like this anymore. The kind with film in them, I mean,” Jean comments.

“Irene’s had that camera for over twenty years,” Clare explains.

“How did you know that?”

“She told me.”

“Oh. You seem to know a bit about Irene, at least, more than I do. Are you two close?”

“I would consider us close, yes.” She seems to deem the subject explored thoroughly enough, and does not offer a further explanation despite Jean’s many questions swirling in her head.

At that moment, Jean feels a drop of rain on her head. She looks up to see clouds rolling in. A breeze picks up, and a certain smell fills the air. Clare seems to notice it too. She glances upward for a brief moment before looking back to the Bass Pro Shops sign.

“It’s going to rain,” she says solemnly.

“Really? The forecast didn’t say rain,” Jean replies.

Clare shrugs. “You never know.”

“On the bright side, if it rains, that means the sign is safe for tonight.”

“We’re not in the clear yet. We still have the whole night to go.” She makes a good point. Jean worries what the consequences are of letting the “B” go without proper justice being administered. The thought leaves her throat dry. She reaches for a bottle of water only for Clare to do so at the same time. Their hands gently brush, and Jean can feel the entire sensation run up her spine. She immediately pulls away. Clare does the same.

“You first,” Jean says.

“No, you,” Clare insists politely.

“Are you sure? I’m not that thirsty.”

“Me neither.”

Tension builds as they both will the other to grab water first. They end up both going for the water at the same time again. Immediately, both women retract their hands. Jean sits on her hands, not wanting to make the same mistake again. Her desire for water quickly fades.

As if by a miracle, rain starts pouring down. Clare seems intent on remaining in her chair, unmoving. Jean does not wish to get soaked stiff, so she hastily gets up and rushes to her car, only to realize Clare did not follow her.

“Clare! Get out of the rain!” She calls out.

“I’m fine,” Clare responds, visibly shivering.

“Get in the car!”

“I said I’m fine!”

“If you get hypothermia, Irene will kill me. Get in the car,” Jean yells, marching over to her friend and grabbing her by the arm. She promptly stuffs the woman into the backseat of her car. Once the door shuts, the world gets much quieter. Only the patter of rain against the windows fills the silence. Jean leans against the door, making sure to maintain a proper distance between her and the other woman.

“It's impossible to survey like this,” Clare says, squinting to see out the front windshield. The smear of rain makes it impossible to see further. "I have to go out."

She reaches for the door handle, and Jean has to wrestle it out of her hand. "You are not going back out there! It's pouring rain."

"We have a job to do."

"And we can't do our job very well if we're dead."

"Then I will die in the line of duty." Clare grabs for the door again. She manages to open it.

Jean grabs her from under the shoulders and pulls her back. She closes the door again with her foot. "You absolutely will not!"

"How dare you take advantage of my shorter arms."

"How dare I care about your well being!"

"You care about me?" The question comes so softly Jean barely hears it. Her arms go slack, and Clare falls out of her grasp.

"Yeah," Jean answers, "You're my friend."

"I consider you a friend as well."

"That means a lot to me."

"Me as well."

In the dim lights of the parking lot, Jean could swear she sees a tear roll down Clare's cheek.

"I still want to go out there," Clare says, "What if they take the 'B' while we're not looking?"

Jean puts a hand on the other's shoulder. She is not sure why, but it feels right in the moment. "Clare, it's pouring rain out. No one is going to steal that sign tonight."

"You're right."

\----

"It's gone!" Irene practically yells.

"We watched it the entire night until it started raining," Jean reasons, "And when it stopped, it was already gone! They must have taken it during the storm."

"And you didn't catch them?"

"It was impossible to see! We had to retreat into my car to keep from freezing to death. Clare is awfully small. I was worried for her well being."

At that, Irene's demeanor changes. "Clare was with you?"

"Undine had to cancel, and Clare volunteered to join."

"Oh. So Clare was there the entire night?"

Jean nods. "The whole night."

Irene purses her lips as she thinks. "I suppose I was wrong to trust anyone but myself. I will take matters into my own hands from here on out. Your hands are washed of the situation."

"I can still help!" Jean says, "Just preferably in nicer weather."

"And with Clare," Undine adds unhelpfully.

Irene shoots her a glare. "Don't you have a beef jerky display to be setting up?"

Undine bows her head in shame. "Yeah."

"Then, go."

"Yes, sir." She slumps away to her beef jerky prison.

Irene turns back to Jean. "I will allow this mistake to slide just this once, but please be more careful next time. It's for the good of the Bass Pro name and most importantly, our dignity."

"I won't let you down again."

"Good." With that, Irene turns on her heel and leaves. She carries a lobster trap under her arm. Jean does not question it.

**Author's Note:**

> expect sporadic updates depending on how often i hyperfixate  
> for snippets, gay junk, and more check out my [twitterrrrrrrrrrrr](https://twitter.com/_vulpixel)  
> hope yall have a nice nice ^-^


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